Whiskey Lullaby
by plainmnmemy
Summary: Alcohol couldn't take away their pain...they should have known it wouldn't take away their love. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNING ON THE INSIDE. rated for language, alcohol abuse, and death.


**AN: ** Hello, I'm back, however I'm back with another sad and depressing story. SO having said that,

**PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE THE FOLLOWING:** _This story contains elements of alcoholism, death as a result of alcohol, lashing out, depression, longing, guilt, and those of a supernatural nature. If you read my previous one shot 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room', and thought it was too depressing, then you need to stay away. IF YOU ARE NOT SURE THIS STORY IS FOR YOU, look up the lyrics to the song '__**Whiskey Lullaby' by Brad Paisley feat. Alison Krauss**__. The lyrics alone will give you an exact interpretation of this story so you can see if you'll want to read it or not. _

I am in no way saying this will be the best sad story you've ever written…I just want to avoid another review like I got from a guest on the last one saying they were '_captivated until the end'_ because it did not include a happy ending to which I say this: I have ADHD: Impulse, meaning I have difficulty controlling feelings such as sadness, fear, embarrassment and anxiety. This leads many to suffer from depression which is why I see a counselor every week to sort through things. **My thoughts, feelings, and emotions are going to make their way into these stories and that's just how it is.**

I also wanted to note the definition of fiction. Though they used the words _make-believe_, which is defined as the action of imagining things are **better than they are** which in my story was not the case; the website is called **fan fiction**. I'm a fan…And these are works of fiction. The definition of fiction states that it is a form of any work that deals with information or events that are not real, but rather, imaginary and theoretical. **Fiction** is the result of ancient civilizations, dating back to the Mayans and beyond, telling stories in order to convey messages such as warning against a behavior or morals one should retain. **Fantasy fiction** is a result of stories such as the _Grimm's Brothers Fairy Tales_ from which our favorite Disney movies were inspired. Go read their _The Little Mermaid_ and come back and let me know what you think.

**My disclaimer on such statements is this**_**:**__ I have taken literature courses such as Fantasy and Fiction (I have read every Grimm's story), Special Topics Film (focused on LGBT in the history of films), Southern Literature, and Classic Mythology, to name a few. These courses have allowed me to analyze stories from all over the globe from the beginning of time. I'd like to think I know what I'm talking about. _

I truly am grateful for the kind words you left about the craft itself being good.

You may call me a bitch if you so desire, but it will not be the first time I've heard it and it won't be the last.

I own neither the song nor the characters.

* * *

"_Skye_, please listen, I—"

The feel of her tiny hands on his chest, pushing him away from her, felt like hot irons branding their fingerprints on his skin.

"_Oh_! I'm _sorry_! I was taught not to talk to those who _betray people_."

Grant ran his fingers through his hair and pulled in frustration as he tried with no avail to rectify the situation he had a major part in fucking up.

This plan had been brewing up a storm in his mind for a couple days now. The minute they kissed in the janitor's closet—he knew—something he could finally have for himself. He would continue following Garrett's plan, and when Coulson finally caught up with him, he'd find her amongst all the confusion. They'd leave together and start over far away from here; his safe house in Italy had a view he knew she'd fall in love with.

Waiting for Coulson to show up required a great deal of patience and the minute he saw May and Skye run across the Cybertech courtyard, he went into action. Deathlok was easy enough to take care of, and when Grant gave the suspicious cyborg the key to his son's cell, he walked away without a word. The Hydra foot soldiers would easily accept him as second in command and leave him to his business, but he knew he'd more than likely have to deal with them down the line.

When he finally found her, without the Cavalry, she was holding off two Hydra soldiers whom—it happened so fast he can't really remember—now have matching bullet holes in each of their foreheads.

This was supposed to be where she would run into his arms and he would sneak them away quietly letting S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra fight their own battles.

If the tears pouring over her cheeks were any indication, his plan was tearing apart at the seams.

Skye was quickly pacing back and forth in front of him and when his hands shot out to grab her shoulders she jerked away from him.

"No Ward! I-I can't do this! I won't…." Each word cut him deeper and he felt as if his vitality was slipping away from him right in front of her. Her breathy laugh added the extra venom to her lecture, "_Why _would I go _anywhere_ with a traitor?"

Couldn't she see? He was trying to give it all up? Protect her and allow them the happiness that was stolen from the both at an early age.

"I love you!"

The confession came out as a loud growl but it was the last defense he had, and he had everything riding on this one moment as she stared back at him. His fingers itched to wipe the tears still leaking from her doe eyes but he fought it off, he wasn't doing anything else to mess this one micro-chance up.

"Well." He watched her swallow back her tears and when she closed her eyes she let her head tilted back to look up at the ceiling. She was trying to calm herself down and he tried to take the same opportunity but found he could not. His answer was hanging off her lips and he was about to scream.

"I'm glad you started telling the truth." Her head lowered back down and her eyes pierced through his soul, "but I _don't_ love you."

What could he do? What could he say? If 'I love you' wasn't enough, what else was there? Life was trying to tell him something…he didn't deserve happiness; he had dammed himself too much already.

Gulping back his own emotions, he felt his head nod slowly before he started to back away as a reflex.

"Now go!" She turned away from him and began walking down the corridor he found her in, "I'm giving you a head start."

The hall now felt cold and empty, and he half wondered if it was just him as his feet moved on their own accord away from the battle.

_Alone again._

He slammed the door of the SUV he had hidden after he climbed inside.

_No, not again._

The engine roared to life and the tires squealed as he pulled out of the parking lot of the facility.

_He's always been alone._

* * *

_**She put him out, like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette**_

The trip to Italy had been surprisingly easy. He figured the team took care of Garrett and probably knew he was no threat without the older man dictating his life.

And they were right.

It's why he sat outside his Tuscany villa staring into the rolling hills dotted with towns. The area's famous wine had grown to taste like water to him over time, which is why he had a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand—with an empty one by his feet—having had ditched the glass early on.

_**She broke his heart; he spent his whole life tryin' to forget**_

Her face was engraved his memory and he replayed the scene from the hallway over in his mind. During the day, he'd remember their conversation—the hope he had of her coming with him—and the look in her eyes when she said she didn't love him. The mind was by far crueler than that with the vivid dreams of them together in the closet and at Providence.

_**We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time**_

The dreams allowed him to take control and change the situation into anything he wanted. Sometimes they made love on the plush cushions at Providence; sometimes he took her right there against the wall in the closet; other times, he simply held onto her for dear life instead of walking on the Bus.

Shaky fingers brought the bottle up to his lips one more time.

_**But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind**_

'_I want this….and you? What do you want?'_

'_What I want… is to stay here with you, and pretend the outside world doesn't exist.'_

He closed his eyes in pain trying to think of anything else.

"_But I don't love you!"_

_**Until the night,**_

The bottle shattered against the wall and he staggered on his feet before realizing he had thrown it. He stared straight ahead as if in slow motion as the crystal of the glass flew around him in different directions; the amber liquid staining the wall of his home.

The setting sun reflected a red sunset off of the shattered glass around him and he made his way to the door of his home, ignoring the fragments of glass crunching under his bare feet.

_**He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger**_

He found a pen and paper after stumbling to the kitchen—grabbing a new bottle on the way— and collapsed on the sofa in his living room.

He hauled himself up to a sitting position and slammed the paper and pen down on the coffee table in front of him before he slumped over when his vision blurred.

_**And finally drank away her memory**_

'_Let's let Simmons to look at you, and maybe we can get that drink.'_

_He remembers the exact way she smiled at him._

'_Deal.'_

_**Life is short, but this time it was bigger,**_

His hand moved haphazardly as he scribbled on the paper a small note before lifting the paper closer to his face.

"My feelings were always real…" He fell back against the cushions and let his body fall to the side, his head hitting the small flat pillow by the arm of the couch. "Why couldn't you see that?"

**Then the strength he had to get up off his knees.**

A lone tear fell down his cheek, but he was too drunk to feel. He didn't feel much of anything anymore.

* * *

The front door broke down in the middle of the night as flashlight beams invaded the dark home.

"Ward?"

Two figures made their way through the door and walked carefully through the moonlit hallway checking rooms as they went. The blinds in the living room were drawn covering the room in darkness.

He moved his flashlight around searching before landing on the body that rested on the couch.

"Coulson."

The newly appointed Director stifled a groan at the tone of the younger man's voice, and steeled himself for the news he'd already feared. They'd finally found him after countless dead ends of searching.

Hydra was gone, his part in the ordeal had been realized and—Coulson being who he was—believed everyone was worth saving.

_**We found him with his face down in the pillow,**_

He approached the other agent as he shone his light down around the couch; the light shining off the bottles that littered the floor.

Coulson approached the couch and knelt down to wrap fingers around Grant's wrist, glass crunching under his feet the only sound, before bowing his head.

The other man brought his cell phone out to call for the medical examiner, but the news didn't need confirmed and the man felt a wave of nausea flood through him. He let the wrist in his grasp go and as it fell back on the cushions Coulson noticed there was something in his other hand lying face down on his chest.

_**With a note that said I'll love her till I die.**_

"What's that sir?"

The older agent took the piece of paper out of his hands and read it before turning back to former protégé of Agent Garrett.

Tripp took the piece of paper out of his hands and read it to himself before letting out a sigh of his own.

"So, I'm guessing she can never see this?"

_**And when we buried him beneath the willow,**_

Standing up, Coulson patted his pant legs to get the wrinkles out before walking past the younger man towards the door.

"Skye can never know."

_**The angels sang a whiskey lullaby**_

_I will always love you._

* * *

Their attempt at hiding it was sketchy and lasted for a total of two weeks before rumors spread throughout The Hub. She'd already looked for mission briefs and the minute she saw the boy's mission wasn't recorded, leading her to look into their phone records as a last ditch hope.

_(310) 824-7568:_

_1:36 AM: OUTGOING PHONE CALL TO +39 3545861 _

The Italian number had thrown her off at first but after some more digging she'd linked it to an Italian police force medical examiner.

'_Where do you think you'd be? Ya know, if you weren't slaving away for S.H.I.E.L.D.'_

_He turned to her and shrugged._

'_I don't know…maybe go to Italy? I've always liked it there and have a safe house in Tuscany if I ever need it.'_

_She rested her head in her hand, 'Sounds relaxing.'_

Throwing all decorum aside, she had practically kicked the door to Coulson's office down before she stormed inside. His stoic face remained in place as she threw the papers onto his desk, never taking her eyes off his. The silence had told her all she needed to know and she thought her teeth would break as she clenched her jaw.

"_Why_?"

The man who she looked to as a surrogate father sat down in the chair behind his desk; reclining back into it as his hands came up to rub the wrinkles out of his face that had appeared due to exhaustion.

"Why make your nightmares any worse?"

Already at the door, she gripped the handle tightly before exiting quickly.

She kept her façade up until she made it to her quarters in the Hub before slumping back against the door and sliding to the bottom to stare at the wall opposite of her. Reaching under her bed, she pulled her laptop out to bring up the image she'd kept on her hard drive for months.

No. It was fine. Nothing's changed; he was still a traitor and got what he deserved.

Her laptop stayed remained on the bedside table with the image never leaving the screen. Her tears soaked through her sheets in her sleep as she dreamed of the time she was in love…and denied herself the feeling.

_Death followed her wherever she went._

* * *

_**The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself**_

Months went by and the light she once held in her eyes had all but diminished to a hollow black. He knew she was starting to blame herself due to the events at Cybertech, so he lightened her mission work in an attempt to give her room to grieve, but all it did was let her develop a routine.

_**For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath**_

It was May who first came to him with a drunken Skye hanging on her shoulder, having found her wondering the halls of the Hub in the middle of the night. They left on The Bus the following month in an attempt to change her environment, only for FitzSimmons to find her slumped over the bar unconscious with a broken bottle in one bloody hand and a half full glass of clear liquid in the other a week later.

They ignored the smell of alcohol present during mission briefing and started keeping a wary eye on her during missions after a simple Hydra infantry soldier knocked her out with ease, eventually pulling her off all together.

_**She finally drank her pain away a little at a time **_

A routine quickly developed and Coulson found his heart breaking into pieces with each time May or he found her after the alcohol became too much. Tripp had found her first one night and they could only watch with heavy hearts when they heard her call the specialist 'Grant' as he carried her back to her room.

FitzSimmons had given up trying to talk to her and kept their distance after she shoved Fitz into a wall during a briefing. Coulson tried to hold her in his arms to get her to calm down but her violent thrashing was making it difficult to keep a solid hold on her. They were all out of breath by the time May knocked her unconscious, and he was only faintly aware of the sobs emitting from Jemma in the back of the room as she huddled in a corner with Fitz in her lap. Tripp walked out of the room without a word and he could see the guilt and pain May held in her eyes.

He was instantly aware when she woke up as the sound of glass shattering echoed in the halls of the bus.

_**But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind**_

They found her bunk empty the next day. All that remained of the woman was a broken hula doll and shattered glass and no one said a word. It was remarkable she hadn't disappeared sooner.

_**Until the night**_

Searching for her took some effort due to her skills and it wasn't until months later when they got any kind of hint, all of them clambering into an SUV once the Bus landed.

Coulson instantly recognized the van the minute he found it parked outside a worn down motel on the outskirts of Iowa. May already had the windows broken, unlocking the doors, when he made his way to the van only for them to find it empty.

The motel itself looked as if it was caving in and he half wondered if anyone worked there.

He was tired of looking around and playing guessing games. In his moment of weakness he stormed into the motels office, gun drawn, demanding to know who all was staying in the motel.

After a minute of the small foreign man struggling to keep his wits and scramble through his receipts, they now had a list of occupied rooms. The man confirmed a picture of Skye but kept no record of who was in what room.

_**She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger**_

Splitting up was probably a worse idea than he first figured and he cringed when he heard a shriek, remembering the way they found Ward.

In his haste he ran straight into Tripp as the younger man skidded around a corner briefly knocking them both into the wall before they saw May run in front of them towards the sound of continued screams.

_**And finally drank away his memory**_

Fitz was huddled against the wall in the hallway across from the door, staring blankly through the entry way. Guns drawn, the three agents made their way into the room broken glass crunching under their feet becoming too much for Coulson to handle as another reminder flooded through him.

They found Jemma holding onto a small tan wrist, eyes focused on her watch but no longer counting. Coulson nodded to Tripp as he holstered his gun, and made room for the specialist to carry the woman in shock before glancing at the bed.

A choked gasp left his lips when he saw her, hair strewn over her face bottle clenched tightly in one hand by her side. He leaned back on the wall, bringing his fist up to his mouth to keep in the sobs he knew were bubbling out.

_**Life is short but this time it was bigger**_

Gingerly May walked over to the side of the bed and sat beside the young girl's body, reaching over to move her hair away from her face.

She looked as if she was sleeping and he took small comfort in the thought that maybe now she was actually at peace.

_**Than the strength she had to get up off her knees**_

Taking a deep breath to calm himself he allowed himself to walk over to her and hovered above May as the older woman stared down in silence.

"We failed her."

May's eyes snapped up to his wide in response to his statement, reaching out to grab his hand. Her fingers were cold in his—or maybe it was the other way around—but he found himself gripping onto them for dear life.

"No, Phil—"

"We failed them both."

_**We found her with her face down in the pillow**_

He watched as she sighed and turned back to look at the girl she had just started to train, realizing she probably felt the same guilt as he did…How could they have let it get this bad?

After a few minutes of the only sound being the sobs in the hallway, May reached over to rest her hand on the cold one lying on the bed, running her thumb over the skin.

"Phil."

Coulson looked where her hands were as she gently pried Skye's cold fingers away from the parchment she was holding, leaning away from her once she flipped it over to read what was scribbled on the back.

The woman raised it up for him to take it without looking away from Skye.

_**Clinging to his picture for dear life**_

Just as he had his note; Skye had this picture. The heartbreak of it all was almost too much to bear.

He tucked the photo in his pocket and reached for May's arm, bringing her into a standing position and gesturing for her to move away from the bed.

Ignoring May's looks of confusion, he leant over and knocked the bottle out of Skye's hands before putting his arms underneath her to lift her up.

Turning towards the door, he carried her out of the hotel without saying a word, handing her over to the S.H.I.E.L.D. crew already outside.

_**We laid her next to him beneath the willow**_

It was only fitting.

Neither had any family, the only thing close now standing underneath the tree.

May walked over to the younger members of the team gesturing for them to move away and Tripp gripped Coulson's shoulder tightly, giving it a slight shake, before walking in the direction they left in.

He reached into his pocket to pull out the photo he found in Skye's hands along with the note they found in Grant's. A shaky breath left his lungs as he struggled to keep his emotions in check, leaning down to balance on his heels, placing the pieces of paper between the two plots.

"I'm sorry."

He stood up quickly and nodded his head to himself before he walked towards the SUV where the others were waiting.

_**While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby**_

_I'm so sorry. I still love you._

* * *

The wind blew through her hair as she stared down at the two stones in front of her, the branches of the willow tree shading her flowing around her. There were no tears on her cheeks but she felt the sadness deep within her and she was both clueless and slightly aware of what had happened.

She brought her hands up to wrap around herself and gripped the plaid flannel sleeves of her shirt tightly.

"You shouldn't be here."

Her eyes widened and she whipped her head around to search for the owner of the deep voice, her eyes landing on the man leaning against the tree trunk.

"What?"

Confusion etched onto her features as her gaze flickered between the man and the two stones in front of her.

"You shouldn't have done that just because of me…I wasn't worth it."

The past tense of the word stood out.

_Wasn't_.

"You're one to talk." There's no bite to her voice. No sarcasm or anger. What was there to be mad about anymore? "Not like we can do anything about it now."

She ignores his frown and kneels down to reach between the two stones to pick up the two pieces of paper lying between them, wiping off the dirt that had blown over them so she could read them.

She recognized the picture. It was one she kept with her at all times. The other piece of paper though, wasn't hers, and was blank on one side. Flipping it over, she read the words out loud, "_I will always love you_."

It was all slowly starting to click into place.

The air they were breathing…_wasn't really air anymore._

She stood up slowly and began walking to the man still leaning on the tree, "What is this place?"

The man shrugs slightly, "I don't really know…I just know I've been sitting here for a while." She's in front of him now, feet away from him, staring at the face she knew so well from before. He looked the same: beard, muscles, same black Henley and black jeans…same scar on his cheek.

A strange comfortable silence fell over them as they stood underneath the tree, surrounded by endless rolling hills of wild grass.

The wind blew through her hair once more and she pushed a lock of it behind her ear when she brought her eyes up to meet his chocolate ones.

"_Grant"_, her fingers started to shake as she looked back down at the two items in her hand, his eyes too much for her guilt to handle. "I-I'm so sorry." The last part of her apology came out as a choked sob. Grant was still leaning back on the tree, his arms crossed and his gaze straight ahead on her.

She raised her head up to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, her chin wobbling as she tried to continue, "I never stopped," Another deep breath. "I never stopped _loving_ you, and, I never forgave myself for telling you no," Her voice was increasing in pitch and she couldn't stop now if she tried, hiccups and gasps in between each sentence. "I shouldn't have—"

The touch of his rough hands was muted by her sleeves but the warmth was there despite the fact she no longer had flowing blood. She felt herself being pulled forward and fell into his chest as she continued to cry.

His hand was tangled in her hair instantly holding her head to his shoulder and amongst his quiet soothing shushes she felt his lips press into her hair as he rested his cheek on the side of her head.

She lifted her head off of his shoulder and slid her hands up to rest on both sides of his face, falling in love with him all over again. "I'm so sorry."

The hand in her hair untangled itself briefly before digging back in after swiping a brown curl out of her face. She felt his hand on the base of her neck and leaned forward, their lips ghosting over one another's before he closed the distance and sealed his mouth over hers.

They pulled away from each other after a moment; the natural reaction of needing air forcing them apart before they both realized the no longer had that problem.

He leans up to place a kiss on her forehead before bringing her to rest in his arms once more.

"What do we do now?" Her voice was muffled by his shirt but she felt the chuckle vibrate through his chest.

"I have no fucking clue."

For the first time since she can remember her lips curved up into a smile and she squeezed her arms around his waist briefly before nestling her head in the curve of his neck.

This was definitely weird…but she _was_ a 0-8-4…she shouldn't question anything anymore.

Grant was with her now and that's all that mattered and they had all eternity to make their mistakes up to each other.

_**And the angels sand a whiskey lullaby…**_

* * *

_**AN:**_ It took me hours after writing that first authors note to write this and I'll admit it was bitchy but I just felt as if it needed said. It was originally like 1000 words of my bitching and I narrowed it to like 400 some…BUT I am sorry if you were offended by it. The good news is you made it through the story anyway.

This story took a lot out of me and I'll admit I even had to stop writing it half way through because it was so rough. This song is in a hidden playlist on my iTunes for the sole reason of it makes me cry the minute I hear it and makes me depressed the rest of the day.

I put that last supernatural experience thing at the end just because I'm not depressing enough to put a story on here just to have them both die and nothing remotely good about it. I'm a die-hard Skyeward shipper…I'm just putting my ideas into their lives.

I'm not even going to ask that you review but if you do thank you in advance. You're a lovely person…


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